


them broken brights

by magicknickers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Femslash, Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicknickers/pseuds/magicknickers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione and Luna after the War. Grief lingers everywhere, and Hermione isn't sure where her place is any longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	them broken brights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).



> My first time with this pairing, and hopefully it worked out! The title is taken from Angus Stone's "Broken Brights." The song inspired a lot of this fic, really. Warnings for angst and pre-femslash.

Harry and Ron jump into Auror training mere days after Voldemort's defeat. Hermione's lucky to see them more than once a fortnight, and when Ron breaks things off before they've had the chance to develop beyond heat-of-the-moment, she doesn't spend too much time crying over it.

Hermione's not sure if she should be more surprised, more upset, more _something_. She spends more time crying over her own apathy than the death of a relationship she's wanted since she was thirteen.

-

“I never thought you and Ronald would work out.” Luna says it so blandly, so matter-of-factly, that for a moment Hermione thinks she's misheard her. 

“Why?” she finally asks, wrapping her hands very tightly around her teacup. They're in a Muggle cafe just outside of Diagon Alley – their meeting is all very spur-of-the-moment, very un-Hermione. 

_Spontaneous_ , she thinks. 

She's supposed to be helping George clear out the shop _(I have to move, I can't just stay here in this place where he's everywhere)_ , but he hadn't been there when she'd arrived. And then she'd run into Luna coming out of Gringott's.

“You know why,” Luna says. Sighing, Hermione brings the cup to her lips. Takes a sip.

Luna's right. She does know.

-

St. Mungo's offers her an internship even before she takes her NEWTs. Hermione accepts. It's not what she wanted – wants – to do, but she _does_ want to help however she can. Most of the rooms in the hospital are still taken from the effects of the fighting, and the patients recovering are coming few and far in between. Slow-acting curses are springing up everyday.

When she sees Luna strolling in through the lobby on her first day, she isn't surprised.

Xenophilius Lovegood is staying on the floor she's stationed on, suffering from the effects of the Cruciatus. He's in his right mind – as right as it's ever been, that is – but his body had reacted worse than most. 

“Hullo, Hermione,” she says. Her clothing is more subdued than Hermione's ever seen it, all blacks and greys.

“Luna,” she answers. She doesn't have to force a smile.

Luna visits her father often, and Hermione can't deny that she likes seeing her everyday. She hates visiting the Burrow, where both Harry and Ron are staying. The grief lines all of the Weasleys' faces so obviously, their emotions so raw, that it usually makes Hermione feel like she's intruding. 

So she stays away. 

-

Hermione's the one to send the owl when Xenophilius is released. He leans heavily on his daughter the entire way out of the facility. There's a pang for her parents in Australia, still happily oblivious. 

-

For obvious reasons, Luna stops coming to St. Mungo's. Hermione checks vital signs and administers medication and signs release forms. It's slow, monotonous work that a part of her can't help resent.

She's meant for something bigger, she knows. 

Several nights after her last visit, she dreams of Luna lying on white sheets with her hair spread out around her face, eyes bright. The rest is hazy, but Hermione remembers that part, remembers the beauty of it.

Hermione wonders if she should be upset with herself. Decides _no_ after a moment. Maybe, if she doesn't think about it too much, it won't die on a wave of heat-of-the-moment.

_Spontaneous_ , she thinks. 

-

“Why do you stay at St. Mungo's?” Luna asks. This time, Hermione _had_ helped George clear out the shop. He'd been silent, mostly. The tightness around his eyes had betrayed him, though, and Hermione had tried not to notice the shaking of his hands as he'd folded Fred's jumpers and gathered his few books into small, neat piles. They'd finished quickly.

She'd run into Luna walking into Flourish and Blotts, her blonde hair like a beacon in the crowd, and had tried not to blush when she'd seen her.

“I'm needed,” Hermione says. She tears a piece of her scone – chocolate and bread and sweetness – and brings it to her mouth. They're at a different cafe than the last time. This one has young, trendy workers and odd, distracting light fixtures that shine dim, red light over everything. Her tea tastes like filthy dishwater, but the scone is delicious.

“Really?” Her tone is mild, but Hermione feels the sting regardless. She's always been too sensitive. 

“Do you – do you think otherwise?” she manages. 

“What I think doesn't actually matter, Hermione,” Luna says, tone still mild and even. “If you think you're needed, then you should stay.” She pauses for a moment. Takes a sip of her coffee – Hermione wishes she'd gotten coffee instead – before continuing. “Unless, of course, you'd like to do something else.”

“I hate it there,” Hermione admits quietly. She reluctantly finishes the scone. Now she has nothing to distract her restless, idle hands with.

“Are you really needed, then?” 

Hermione takes a sip of her tea, wincing at the foul taste of it. Her mind works over Luna's words.

“I'm not sure,” she says.

“Maybe,” Luna answers. “You should figure that out.”

She wonders when Luna Lovegood had decided to grow up. It may very well be the best advice anybody's ever given her.

-

She sends Luna an owl nearly a week later. It's a barn owl she'd picked up at Diagon Alley the last time she was there. Still nameless, still unfriendly, the creature barely looks at her as Hermione ties the note to its leg and sends it off through the kitchen window. 

_Can you meet me at Flourish and Blott's in an hour?_

The answer arrives quickly.

_Of course._

Her eyes glance over the room – her mother's kitchen, her mother's things – once, twice. She grabs her wand and leaves.

-

They look through the shelves silently. Luna doesn't say a thing, not even to greet her, and for that Hermione is appreciative. Ron or Harry would be prodding at her by now, picking until she told them whatever it was she'd wanted to tell them.

“I hate being there,” Hermione says quietly. The other girl's eyes lift from the Astronomy text she's looking at. “I hate the smell of sickness and grief and – “

She stops. Takes a sharp breath.

“I never see Ron,” she says. “Or Harry, for that matter. It's like I'm standing alone on one side of the world while they're on the other. I don't have any friends and my parents don't remember me. I just – ”

“Hermione,” Luna interrupts. She grabs her hand in hers, fingers cool and soft and dry.

“Yes?” The word leaves her in one, shaky breath.

“I'm your friend.” Hermione shuts her eyes. Squeezes the other girl's hand.

“I know,” Hermione says.

And maybe that will be enough.

She thinks of her dream again. Let's the thought go.

_Maybe._


End file.
